


The Worth of a Bard

by SarazelSwift



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Danger, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Wyverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarazelSwift/pseuds/SarazelSwift
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are traveling when they encounter exactly what it was Geralt had been tasked to find...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	The Worth of a Bard

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Witcher fic, please be constructive in any criticism. 
> 
> This is likely a small 'series'. I do have at least one more part/chapter to post. But dont hold your breath as it's taken me forever to write this one. 😅
> 
> Big thank to [Haruprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haruprincess) for beta-ing and giving me the 'shove' to post!

"And while we're on the topic!" Jaskier exclaimed, sidestepping just in front of Geralt, forcing the Witcher to halt. "Just how many crowns have you made off of my tales?"

Geralt stared down at the reddened face of the bard before him. "Your lies you mean?"

"Lies? Embellishments. Peace nary draws a crowd." Jaskier defended.

"I wasn't looking for fame. You wanted that for yourself." He stepped around Jaskier and continued forward, focusing his attention on the path ahead of him.

He had been hired by a merchants guild to investigate the continuing disappearances of their guildees, to and from their destinations. He had finally managed to track down their last known sightings. Unfortunately that had been where Jaskier happened to have found him again.

It wasn't as if he hated the bard. No. He quite enjoyed the company, but he'd be damned if he let him know that. "How many Geralt?"

"I've never kept track." 

Jaskier threw his hands in the air and turned away. He walked a few feet and rounded on him again. "My point being- you could have done something useful with the money. Give it to me, for example. Not lose it in a silly game of Gwent!"

"Would have been a waste either way." Geralt grumbled, walking around Jaskier once again. The moment the words left his mouth he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He shouldn't have said that. It was the truth; Jaskier had poor spending habits, even if he’d not admit them.

“A waste? Is that what you think of me?”

Geralt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t the greatest with words, especially with Jaskier. Something about the bard just made his tongue knot up. “You’re not a waste- you’re wasteful.”

“Wasteful? Geralt, in our time together we’ve witnessed much of each other. Is your true assessment of me: wasteful?”

“Jaskier, don’t.”

“No really, I want to know. What do you think of me? Truly?”

Geralt sighed and stopped fully this time, allowing the bard to stop him successfully. He opened his mouth to speak. You’re loud and incessantly annoying. He closed his mouth. No… Don’t say that. You’ve gotten yourself, and me by extension, into more trouble that necessary and all you would have had to do was shut your mouth. No. Not that either.

“That badly?” Jaskier mused, raising a brow.

“No.” Geralt said too quickly.

You’re resilient.

You’re tenacious.

Your eyes remind me of the bluest skies. Free and wild.

None of that. Geralt shook his head. “You’re a good bard...consistent.” 

Jaskier held the Wolf’s gaze a moment longer before sighing. He looked down, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Now who’s lying?”

They walked for hours in strained silence. In that time Geralt could not put together a fitting apology for the words he had spoken. Jaskier hadn’t pushed the matter either. The bard had bitterly strummed about his lute as they went along. As the sun had begun to set, they quietly set up a camp for the night. Geralt made quick work of the campfire with igni. After a supper of dried meats and the last of their bread, the two took turns sleeping.

The next morning, Jaskier’s mood seemed to have declined. Geralt groaned as he was awoken by discordant melodies from the Bard’s lute. He still didn’t have the proper apology nor did he have the courage to speak his true thoughts. Instead he opted to travel to the closest stream to wipe away the night’s grime.

Jaskier watched the Witcher leave wordlessly with his netted pouch of unscented soap and a rag. At least the witcher was bathing, that was more than he could ask for on a normal day. He plucked absent-mindedly at the lute.

He would have hated to admit it if asked, but he was brooding. Wasteful. Jaskier blew out a sigh and abruptly put his lute aside. Was that really what Geralt thought?

Jaskier stood and brushed dirt from the seat of his pants. Just because he didn't like smelling like the ass end of a horse, didn't make him wasteful. Many people, including Geralt, visited bath houses or lost money at card games. Many people drank away their coin. Especially after the war.

He thought of changing into fresh clothing. But not his new wine colored doublet that he had bought earnestly to catch a certain Witcher's eye. He pulled his doublet off and ruffled his hair.

Jaskier had tried, doing what he could to earn Geralt's gaze. His respect. His endearment. How many pages had he filled with sonnets? Odes to the Great White Wolf.

Admittedly the most irritating and recent of his attempts had earned Geralt's ire. Toss a coin to your Witcher. "Tch." Jaskier pulled his chemise off and pitched it down at his pack. Even he was annoyed by the earworm.

Jaskier spied the subtle shimmer of wine fabric peeking out from his pack. What would be wasteful would be having bought his new attire and not wear it. He quirked a brow up at the thought. Why not?

The brook was chilly, but would no doubt warm later in the day. Geralt made quick work of washing himself as best he could with what water was available. Had he been thinking he would have brought an extra water skin. 

He could still faintly hear Jaskier from the camp. But the lute playing stopped abruptly. Geralt wondered if the Bard simply played to wake him.

Jaskier normally played light melodies in the morning, and Geralt let him believe that he had awoken the Witcher. When truth had been that Geralt had been awake hours before Jaskier even stirred.

He liked listening to the soft plucking of Jaskier’s fingertips against the strings. The tunes calmed him against his nightmare riddled sleep. Just another side effect of the mutagen.

He trekked back to their camp to find Jaskier dressing in a wine ensemble. It seemed new and still smelled of a tailor's shop. Geralt didn't much care for the color on Jaskier's paler skin tone, but it made his eyes…. Those brilliant blue eyes seemed to glow.

"That's new." He grumbled, stuffing the soap and rag back into his pack and rummaging about for a cleaner shirt. Geralt could see as Jaskier straightened slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"What? This old thing?" He replied, buttoning the doublet only half way. "I've had it for some time now."

The Witcher did not miss the pride slipping into Jaskier's tone. He pulled his shirt on and began to pull his studded, leather armor on. He had a feeling he would have a long day ahead of him.

They packed camp in under an hour and moved onward, following the weeks old wagon trail. He had been lucky the merchants had carelessly driven through mud, mud that had now dried in multiple ruts.

Geralt narrowed his gaze on the vegetation at the road as he tried to focus. There was a scent in the air. Something familiar and metallic. He approached the side of the road and crouched, dried grasses had been stained with blood.

"So- when you've found this caravan and or the little beastie that's been terrorizing the guild. What will you do with the reward? This of course being your coin."

"Jaskier, quiet." He growled, stepping another few feet into the brush, finding a severed limb decaying beneath trampled prairie grass.

"Oh sure. Quiet. Such a sore subject isn't it?"

"I mean it Jaskier. Shut it."

The Bard lumbered his way through the grasses and wildflowers to stand next to him. "What's wrong now?" He huffed dramatically. "I'm being petty?"

An ear splitting screech sounded above them. "Fuck." Geralt growled, standing up and readying his blade.

"What was that?" Jaskier whispered now. Color had drained from his face and his eyes were wide. The Witcher couldn't get the sound of Jaskier's racing heartbeat from his head.

"Wyvern. Now shut it." He hissed, looking to the skies.

The wyvern soared overhead, turning sharply to round on them. Geralt gripped his weapon tightly. He growled over his shoulder to the Bard. "Get out of here."

Jaskier swallowed nervously and took a step backwards. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The brave and noble Witcher was telling him to run? By rights it made sense. But he couldn't-he couldn't just leave Geralt to his fate. "I don't want to leave you-"

"This isn't a debate, Jaskier." He nearly shouted over the wyvern's shrill cry. 

He covered his ears and winced. The sound still penetrated and dared to split his eardrums. "Geralt-"

"I said go!" He threw his free hand out, sending a wave of force after the wyvern to earn its attention. Aard… he thought. The wyvern advanced, flinging its tail forward in hopes of catching them. Geralt growled in frustration, changing the form of his free hand. Jaskier racked his brain in hopes of remembrance. He was still learning the individual signs despite knowing the magicks. "Jaskier go!"

Geralt seemed so small in comparison to the wyvern in front of them. It felt wrong to leave The Witcher, but this was his duty. This was what witchers were made for. Fighting the monsters that no one else could. Jaskier knew Geralt would come back safe, in a manner of speaking.

The Bard backed away for a few feet before turning to run. He hurried into the long grass of the prairie around them. He stumbled over a rabbit hole. Jaskier flung his hands out in front of him, desperately trying to gather himself.

The battle between the Witcher and the Wyvern could still be heard. Jaskier swore he could have heard Geralt howl in pain. He winced at the thought.

Something inside of him snapped and Jaskier growled in annoyance. You ass… The Bard scrambled to stand once more and righted himself. Geralt had used Axii on him.

Jaskier ran back toward them, the sounds of struggle were growing. He broke through the grass at the edge of the road. His heart stopped at the sight before him. Geralt was prone, holding desperately onto Quen as blood ran in a stream down the side of his face. The Wyvern clawed angrily at the field and slammed its tail against it. 

He had to do something. 

Had to do something now.

He strummed his fingers over the taut lute strings. Jaskier ignored the tremble in his fingers and the flutter of his heart. This is no different than performing for a crowd… this is a DAMNED wyvern you idiot! What are you doing?! He pursed his lips against his erratic thoughts and cleared his throat.

"Hark- ladies and brutes.

The worth of a bard.

We strum our lutes,

And ne'er work hard!"

His voice was loud, but just barely caught the Wyvern's attention. It was working! The creature turned, narrowing its gaze on the Bard.

"Jaskier," Geralt hissed. He pushed the wave of dizziness to the back of his mind. If he didn't get up, if he didn't pick up his sword… the Bard was dead. He had thought the Axii had taken- it seemed to have. But worrying over Jaskier was what had gotten him into his dangerous predicament.

"We call your gaze upon our face

To fill your heads with pretty lies

We sing and dance, and all with grace-"

The Bard continued to sing. He seemed to be holding his ground in a show of defiance against the Wyvern. Geralt knew better- Jaskier was frozen with fear and was too brave to know better.

"Jaskier, no!" Geralt roared.

The Wyvern raised its tail. The Witcher frantically attempted pushing Quen out to guard the Bard. The magic pulsed weakly at his fingertips. His heart was pounding too fast- his nerves too frayed. Geralt couldn't concentrate enough...

"But this is the art of how a bard dies."


End file.
